Hooker, pastor of the church at Newtown.  When Winthrop, in a letter to Hooker, defended the restriction of the suffrage on the ground that “the best part is always the least, and of that best part the wiser part is always the lesser;” Hooker replied that “in matters which concern the common good, a general council, chosen by all, to transact businesses which concern all, I conceive most suitable to rule and most safe for relief of the whole.”  It is interesting to meet, on the very threshold of American history, with such a lucid statement of the strongly contrasted views which a hundred and fifty years later were to be represented on a national scale by Hamilton and Jefferson.  There were many in Newtown who took Hooker’s view of the matter; and there, as also in Watertown and Dorchester, which in 1633 took the initiative in framing town governments with selectmen, a strong disposition was shown to evade the restrictions upon the suffrage.

While such things were talked about in the summer of 1633 the adventurous John Oldham was making his way through the forest and over the mountains into the Connecticut valley, and when he returned to the coast his glowing accounts set some people to thinking.  Two years afterward a few pioneers from Dorchester pushed through the wilderness as far as the Plymouth men’s fort at Windsor, while a party from Watertown went farther and came to a halt upon the site of Wethersfield.  A larger party, bringing cattle and such goods as they could carry, set out in the autumn and succeeded in reaching Windsor.  Their winter supplies were sent around by water to meet them, but early in November the ships had barely passed the Saybrook fort when they found the river blocked with ice and were obliged to return to Boston.  The sufferings of the pioneers, thus cut off from the world, were dreadful.  Their cattle perished, and they were reduced to a diet of acorns and ground-nuts.  Some seventy of them, walking on the frozen river to Saybrook, were so fortunate as to find a crazy little sloop jammed in the ice.  They succeeded in cutting her adrift, and steered themselves back to Boston.  Others surmounted greater obstacles in struggling back through the snow over the region which the Pullman car now traverses, regardless of seasons, in three hours.  A few grim heroes, the nameless founders of a noble commonwealth, stayed on the spot and defied starvation.  In the next June, 1636, the Newtown congregation, a hundred or more in number, led by their sturdy pastor, and bringing with them 160 head of cattle, made the pilgrimage to the Connecticut valley.  Women and children took part in this pleasant summer journey; Mrs. Hooker, the pastor’s wife, being too ill to walk, was carried on a litter.  Thus, in the memorable year in which our great university was born, did Cambridge become, in the true Greek sense of a much-abused word, the metropolis or “mother town” of Hartford.  The migration at once became strong in numbers.  During the past twelvemonth a score